What Loyalties Remain
by Marquesa de Santos
Summary: Magic mists cloud truths and make villains of us all. When a long-lost son of the Faerie Realm is returned to Storybrooke, little birds must fly away and guard their nests, lest dragons come to burn them. Loosely based off of The Brown Bear of Norway. RumBelle, Bae/Emma, RedCricket, Snow/Charming. AU. In-Progress
1. Chapter 1

**Let us be honest. Most of our beloved fairy tales do involve rape, Stolkholm syndrome, and then marriage. Not always in that order. So, trigger warning. I believe the term is dubious consent. Proceed accordingly. Rated M, not MA. I am in no mood to have this story deleted, thank you very much, and this is as much as you're going to get out of me. This will make more sense in upcoming chapters. **

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What Loyalties Remain

Chapter One

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She can no more tolerate the mayor's company than she can lift a school bus with her bare hands, yet here they are.

"Listen, Madam Mayor, I'm really not in the mood—"

"Oh, my dear, whether or not you are in the mood to endure my presence is irrelevant. We do have to work together as public servants," she interrupts with a curl of her upper lip.

Emma's back stiffens and she lays her pen on the paper (her latest victim in the never-ending paperwork wars). It is ridiculous. She knows for a fact that Graham had never been forced to endure the climb up this monstrous mountain range of red tape. In the long hours they had shared in this space, she had never seen it, and she remembers the lone pile that had appeared following the election. She had ignored it the first morning, but each day, a new pile is added to her desk, some dating as far back as twenty-eight years ago. There is no way this town has ever been that interesting, yet this torture belies the truth.

"What's so important;" her eyes lock unto the mayor's.

"There have been reports of a large brown bear roaming around town. Surely, as sheriff, you have been working on the problem, but I wanted to offer my assistance."

~oOo~

That night, Emma dreams of a man clad in bearskin, the same dream she dreamt the night she had awoken to find her bed-sheets sticky with sex, the night she is sure Henry had been conceived, the night that still plagues her sleep because all she has of it is a dream and a child she had given away long ago.

And his actions are the same, though she finds the setting quite different. She is in the only place that has ever felt like home, Mary Margaret's apartment, and the bear-man (or is he a man-bear?) is speaking to her, and she struggles to hear him.

"…found you," he finishes, and it's the only part she hears, but that's the only part that matters, isn't it? She feels the familiar ache pooling in-between her thighs and vaguely wonders who in this town would drug her.

He is a bear, she decides, one who is stepping out of his skin and assuming the shape of a beautifully formed man, all flat panels and oh, how could she have forgotten that? She should be more afraid, but there's a lovely foreign tilt to his words, and though she can't make out his face, it is not at all frightening to her.

"Princess, I've missed you." His voice sounds like dark chocolate, smooth and bitter in the best of ways, sending chills up her spine at the remembered touch of her past dream.

"That so?"

"Ten years I've been looking, and I've found you, little bird."

He had called her that last time, too, and she lifts her arms for him to slide the over-large shirt from her frame. She loosens her hair from her nightly knot, nudging his face towards her neck and face. He whispers his secrets to her, regaling her with tales of sorcery and saviors, cowards and crones, as they share the well-known secrets of two becoming one. In this man's visage she sees the ghost of her son's face and in his words, the echo of the boy's voice.

When he makes her shatter into moonbeams, allowing her to chase every particle of pleasure within her grasp, he kisses her, deep and long, chasing his own satisfaction in the moonshine.

He lays atop her as she gasps, finally lifting his head when her hands caress his hair. He sits up, producing a flask from who knows where, giving her a long sip of what must be the strongest liquor she has ever tasted, and she feels the world slipping away.

~oOo~

Mary Margaret is awoken by a loud scream and heaving sobs.

"Emma?" She races to the blonde's room, only to find the woman sitting atop her bed, nude, pointing at an equally nude man cowering in the far left corner.

"He's back. Holy fuck, you bastard, what the fuck did you to do me?" Her words are nearly unintelligible.

He looks so lost as he cowers against the brick wall, yelling "I don't know! I don't know; what did I do?"

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**Alright. So. Yes. Of Goldfish and Bears died, mostly because I had no idea where it was going. It was one of those "I have a half-formed idea and let me share it with every one before I have any clue what I'm doing!"**

**It didn't work out.**

**And so this appeared, because this actually has a plot, like all my other posted stories (EXCEPT OF GOLDFISH AND BEARS AND I'M REALLY SORRY ABOUT THIS. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW AWFUL I FEEL, BUT THAT STORY IS JUST NOT GOING TO WORK OUT). **

**So this is what happened. I found out that my favorite fairy tale besides "Beauty and the Beast" was not "Snow White and Rose Red," but a Norwegian sort of mash-up that feels very much like both stories. It is called "White-Bear-King-Valemon," and really is a strange, lovely tale. Since there is a Scottish version that takes place in Ireland… it suited my needs. It's called The Brown Bear of Norway.**

**Also, the only way I can justify this nonsense is through a valid, honest-to-goodness psychological condition by which our favorite ginger cricket will explain all. **

**I hope you enjoyed this, and please review. After that last disaster, I would love some encouragement that no, the Marquesa is not a useless creature.**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is one of those things where I know what's gong to happen, but it's still writing itself. So apparently, there's this established pairing in here that I didn't even think I was capable of writing. Alrighty, then. I hope you enjoy**.

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What Loyalties Remain

Chapter Two

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Mary Margaret is unsure of what she should do. There is a part of her that wants to punch the man (she has rather dark urges at times…) and wrap her arms protectively around the dear girl. The other part is terrified that a man has broken into her home—wearing a bearskin, no less!—and wants to huddle in a corner and cry. Mary Margaret resents this weakness within her, resents herself for being so weak in the time of her precious girl's need.

She blinks. _Precious Girl_? The stress is getting to her.

Why should she want to call David of all things! But it seems important that she does, and so she leaves Emma, shivering under a blanket, as Ruby sits, waiting for the county police. The man is handcuffed, and Mary Margaret (barely) resists an urge to kick him senseless. She settles for clenching her hands into fists.

She picks up the phone and dials his cell number. He answers, voice thick with sleep. "Mary Margaret?"

"David. Someone broke in and hurt Emma."

He is alert when he answers, "I'll be right there."

~oOo~

Gold is reposing within his home, his leg aching like a bitch. Getting up seems foolish when he is exhausted and missing her. He misses Bae too, of course, but at least… Bae had a chance to be happy. There is a chance his shining boy had a life, one without magic or the burden of having a coward for a father. This is not a bad world. He has to believe this is not a bad world because Bae must have had a chance for happiness. The alternative is unacceptable. There is more guilt over her, always. She is an absolute, dead by his own folly. If he hadn't sent her away, she might still be alive.

He wants to cry.

In the privacy of his home, he allows the tears to come, the pain, the ache in his heart that overwhelms the pain in his leg. And then the damn phone rings.

He ignores it.

Or tries. It keeps ringing, and eventually, the sound gets to him.

"Yes?"

"Why, Mr. Gold. How are you today?" Her voice is slippery smooth, and it makes him want to throttle her. He will never let her know quite how much she gets to him.

"Very well, Madame Mayor. And to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There's a problem at the jail. I believe someone may be in need of an attorney."

"Thank you for the offer, dear, but I'm afraid I'm not a current practitioner of the law."

He frowns when she laughs. "I'll make you a deal, Rumpelstilskin. You make sure he gets off free, and I'll return something to you."

"Excuse me?"

She hangs up, leaving him dumbfounded (a feat, to be sure), but curiosity did kill the cat. He struggles out of his silk pajamas and gets ready to go down into town.

~oOo~

Archie leaves the interrogation room, shrugging. "I'm sorry. You know how it is, it's not advisable to diagnose someone after only one day."

Ruby raises an eyebrow. "C'mon, Archie." The normally flirtatious mood between them is gone, replaced with awkward seriousness.

"Sexsmonia."

"What?"

"It's a recently discovered phenomenon, and an acceptable defense. Ruby, if I had to, I would be a witness for him, not against. He doesn't remember a thing."

"He raped Emma!" Her eyes flash in rage.

"He doesn't know how he got here, Ruby." His solemnity soothes her and her forehead meets his.

"I'm so tired. I can't believe this. This is crazy." She sighs, her hands reaching for his, finding strength in his calm.

"I know. I—" the opening of the door and the dull thump of a cane cut the thought short as they scramble to make space between them.

"Alright, then. Where is he?" Mr. Gold limps inside, his expression one of boredom and annoyance.

Ruby makes a careless gesture towards the door.

Gold looks toward the glass. His heart stops and he crumples to the ground.

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**Please let me know what you think! Reviews are like red bras. They offer confidence and support. **


	3. Chapter 3

What Loyalties Remain

Chapter 3

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The last time Mr. Gold awoke and knew not where he was, he forgave himself. It was, in fact, when he first woke as Mr. Gold; therefore, it had been understandable. The old world behind him, he swore that never again would his sense of place be lost. So it makes absolutely no sense that he has _no fucking idea where he is. _There are only glaring lights and obnoxious beeps, and (there it is) crushing grief. Bae. Bae is in Storybrooke and _why is he not with his son right now_? This is unacceptable and must be rectified immediately.

"I was sorry to hear of your episode, Mr. Gold. How are you?" Her sympathy is mocking and shrill; he wants to swipe the Cheshire grin off her face. He does not like being in this woman's clutches, and he must make light of this situation. He must not let her know that the man she has commissioned him to defend is his son. He is vaguely aware of how pathetic his inner voice sounds, but chalks it up to shock.

"Madame Mayor. How nice of you to drop by." He smiles. "I'm afraid this incident may put off any defensive measures I might be able to take for the gentleman down in the jail." She doesn't know about Bae. Bae had disappeared long before Rumpelstiltskin became legend, and the only one who knows (_knew_) is (_was_) Belle. Regina's reaction is testament to the fact that Rumpelstiltskin has not lost his touch, even if he has just swooned (what a disgusting word). Specifically, her mask has slipped a wee bit, a frown of annoyance playing over what could have been lovely features had the bitterness not decayed them.

"I do have something you want, Rumpelstiltskin," she hisses, triumph covering a flash of annoyance.

"And what would that be, dearie?" He knows he's about to have his cake and eat it too, and this thrills him to no end.

"She didn't jump off the tower." And suddenly her voice is ice down his spine and blood is rushing through his head.

"Excuse me?"

She is smiling, her eyes gleam, and he wants to throttle her. "What's her name, your little housekeeper. Her father was a pawn to the clerics, you see, ruled with their blessing. He had no power, poor Maurice. Sniveling creature came begging me to save his precious girl from the clerics, and I was happy to oblige. Protected her in my tower. She couldn't leave, you see, but it was for her own protection. Dark One's and clerics after her, poor child."

He grasps unto whatever composure he scattered mind currently possesses, and a grin makes its way to his face. Knowledge is power, and in her eagerness to destroy him, Regina has shown him her cards. "Tell you what, your majesty. I'll help the boy out of the kindness of my heart. He seems he's in a bad spot, and it's always good to have someone owe me a favor." He doesn't know why his voice doesn't waver, why his heart rate doesn't spike and alert her royal-pain-in-the-arse of how fucking angry he is, but he's fucking grateful for it. She thinks she's won. She hasn't. There are several reasons he is an attorney in this world, his penchant for loopholes among them. "But make no mistake. I am not a patient man, dearie. If you would please," the color drains from her face, "release the young woman into my care within the next five minutes, I would appreciate it. Oh. And please, no tricksies, dearie. I would very much like if you could please make sure she is in this room with me until I am discharged."

He wants to cackle as she realizes she has been dim-witted in sharing this information, stiffly standing, no doubt to follow his orders. All at once the reality hits him; he wants to cry. Finally, the machine is beeping out of control and there are nurses everywhere, and all he can see are Bae and Belle, the only ones his heart has ever deigned to love. In the same day, he has them both back. He holds on to this as he slips back into fogginess.

~oOo~

Ben does not know where he is. He is cold and scared and everyone is glaring at him. He is not crazy. "I'm not crazy," he mutters, vocalizing that which he has been internalizing for years. He does not remember laying a hand on the woman, lovely though she might be, but he knows he is someone altogether different at night. He has had lovers leave him for his night-time ramblings of magic, his insistence that he is a bear. He knows the woman's story is more than likely and so now has yet another failing to add to his character.

Benjamin Goldstein hates his fucking life.

His memories all start at about ten, but he's always been small. Maybe he was older, but the law had recognized him as ten, and so at 30 years old, he doesn't even know his real age. Before ten, there is nothing but the whisperings of magic, and even he knows these whispers are naught but lies. Glasgow was not kind to the young Jewish boy, and getting to the United States had been a labor of desperation. When he found the fairy tale of equality to be so much more skewed than everyone had promised, he had tried to kill himself. And that's when the blackouts had begun.

So he knows it won't work. God knows he's tried enough times. He screws his green eyes shut and, not for the first time, he wishes he were someone else, somewhere else, wishes the walls didn't feel like they're closing in, wishes the grey in his life would turn to color, or please, black would do just as well.

~oOo~

The Savior is rocking in her bed, angry, desperate, broken.

The bastard doesn't remember.

She's never hated Archie before now. She has been disappointed with him, especially during her first weeks in Storybrooke, but this is beyond disappointment. She wants to die. She wants to die. Please God, _let me die_.

Mary Margaret is here, hesitantly patting her back, but now Emma is sobbing again, and she needs a hug. God, does she need a hug. Mary Margaret sits there, and Emma wishes Henry were right, wishes this woman were her mother, because if she were, none of this would ever have happened, and she would have known this comfort her entire life. A lifetime of a mother smoothing her hair and soothing her tears. A lifetime of cinnamon and hot cocoa. A lifetime of security.

There is snot shooting from her nose, and Emma feels uncomfortable and gross.

"I'm okay," she pushes her away, drawing her knees back up to her chest, but at least the rocking has stopped. "I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here."

"Storybrooke?" Mary Margaret's green eyes hold no judgment.

"This room." The rape kit is long over with, and though she's had four showers, Emma knows she'll never feel clean ever again. It took her years to be functional after the first time, and she doesn't know if she can recover again.

"Okay. You want me to come with?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Please. Thanks."

She wishes Henry were right.

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**I am pleased with this chapter. Extremely pleased. I feel as though I'm finally shaking off the rust of two years away from creative writing. Also. This is turning out to have so much more Rumbelle than I intended. I CANNOT HELP MYSELF. And I'm not sorry, either.**

**Comments are like red bras: they offer confidence and support. Happy Independance Day, everyone!**


	4. Chapter 4

What Loyalties Remain

Chapter Four

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"You're supposed to be my attorney?" Ben's eyes are dull, and he is not looking up at the man who makes his heart constrict (and why should his heart do so? Flashes of an impossible life, and… and… this man reminds him of the runner in his dreams). "Three days ago you walked in here and fell to the bloody floor, and I'm supposed to trust you have the capacity to defend me against something I obviously did?"' The scoff is a bit too bitter for Gold's liking… no, this won't do at all. Where is his shining brilliant boy? His brave child? The coward in front of him is too much like himself. This wasn't supposed to happen; Bae is not supposed to be bitter and broken and… maybe it wouldn't hurt so much if at least Belle were alright, but she hasn't spoken at all, and he doesn't know if he can be strong for the two bravest people he has ever known.

"Believe what you want, boy," it should be Bae, "but I'm your best shot. And you can whine all you want, but I don't like to lose, and I won't."

There is a fire in those eyes, and "I know you, Mr. Gold. I swear to fucking God I know you."

Rumpelstiltskin wants to cry. Wants to throw his cane to the floor and hold his son in his arms, the son whose youth has been worn away by time, the son the fucking blue fairy sent into a world without magic. And the Dark One can see his boy has suffered, has suffered the effects of having magic woven into his very being and existing in a world without it.

He is tired. He wants to hold his son, and the love of his life, and neither one remembers the role he played in their lives, once upon a time.

"Aye, son. You do. It's a long story, though, and not one to be shared in this place. Let me get you out, first. Then I'll explain everything." And he will. He will explain everything, but he needs to make sure his Bae gets out from behind these iron walls.

The Dark One looks up to find his once-trusting boy is glaring at him, calculating. A survivor, now. Rumpelstiltskin does not know if he should be proud, or if he should cry.

"Deal." Ben answers, extending his hand.

~oOo~

Sometimes, the walls are soothing, the perfect canvas for the pictures her mind creates; sometimes, they close in on her and it is all she can do not to scream. Screaming brings the nurses, and the nurses bring hard bruising hands and medicine. Perhaps it is better to leave the door open? But then anything can get in, the spiders and the slime, and not to mention the men in the long black robes. Perhaps the nice man, with the water and the sad eyes… no, no, no, the doors must be closed lest the monsters in black return.

But they won't. Not anymore. The monsters in black have been gone for months, and the golden man (Gold man, merry gold man, marigolds, something along those lines, surely) has promised to protect her from the nurses.

She decides to keep the door closed, anyways, and drink some more of the golden fire the golden man left in her room. Something about gold helps make one forget, yes? She throws her glass at the wall, frustrated by her thoughts and how stupid she sounds.

~oOo~

Henry misses Emma terribly. He looked up the word rape when the other kids had whispered it in hushed tones around him, and the entire thing just makes his stomach hurt. It seems so ugly, so sad, and she's his real mom. How can mom be so happy that his real mom was hurt so badly? And Emma… every time Emma looks at him, her face crumples into this thing where it doesn't even look like her, and she says "Hey kid..." but she can't even finish the "kid" part because her voice goes up and… and…

(Snow, Grandma, Mary Margaret) Ms. Blanchard just looks at him and pats him on the head, but doesn't tell him anything, so as she's packing up for the day, a few days after the whole thing has blown up, he corners her.

"No one's telling me what's going on.

"Oh, Henry. It's just not something anyone wants to explain." But she puts the papers down and comes to sit on a desk beside him, which means she _will_ explain. It must be said that Henry is a bright boy, brilliant, in fact, and he has figured some things out on his own.

"I know what rape is. Everyone's talking about it, and everyone knows but me, so I looked it up, and who hurt Emma? Why?"

"We don't know Henry."

"Is he my dad?" He's near tears, now. He's tried to be brave, but it's just so hard when he's seen the man. Henry looks as much like the man who hurt Emma as he looks like Snow.

"We think so, Henry. We do. But you have to know Emma loves you very much."

"She gave me away because my dad raped her."

"Oh, honey. Aren't you the one who says Snow and Prince Charming were just trying to give Emma her best chance? Emma was doing the same for you, Henry. She loves you."

She wraps him in a hug, because whatever the father's sins, Henry is an innocent, and loves Emma, and this is too much for a boy of ten.

~oOo~

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really. So where'd you learn how to fish?"

David looks up at the sky and blinks. Where _did_ he learn? God, sometimes it's so hard to remember the simplest things. He throws his line into the water and smiles as Emma does the same. "I learned with my dad."

"Ha. Henry'd get a laugh out of that one. You know his theories?"

"The Snow White and Prince Charming one? Yeah. " His gaze is focused ahead into the river when it hits him. "Oh! I'm teaching you. " He chuckles. "But then, would a prince teach his daughter how to fish?"

"David, in Henry's book, Snow White kicks Charming's ass at the saving stuff. I'm pretty sure he'd be pretty excited about this," she scoffs, and then she cries.

Of course this is awkward. Of course. What can he do? She doesn't even like him; she's pissed off at him for not manning up and choosing, but somehow, they've found themselves here. And he can't help but feel protective of this woman, the only one who's been protecting Mary Margaret in this whole thing. "I know this is a bad question, but is there anything I can do?"

"I want to see Henry. I don't know. I miss the kid, and all I get are glimpses of him, and I need to know he's fine. I don't want him to think I hate him, and Mary Margaret says he knows and it's not fair 'cause he was never supposed to know."

"Why don't you tell him the truth?"

"That's rich coming from you."

He winces, because it's true, but plows on anyways. "And it's gotten me into this mess. Just try to be honest with him. See what happens."

When she leans against him and cries some more, and when he pats her head, it does not feel quite as awkward as perhaps it should.

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**It's been a while... also, this is basically one of the last, if not the last, set up chapters. It will begin to be more plot than exposition. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoyed! And feedback is always appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

What Loyalties Remain

Chapter Five

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"But that's the worst thing, Mary Margaret. I mean, I never said no. I didn't fight. Hell, I thought it was a dream. I _enjoyed_ it. What kind of messed up creep does that make me?" Emma's self-disgust can be heard through the wailing. "I can't… how can I press charges? If Archie's right, then I was the one who took advantage of _him._" She hiccups as the other woman soothes her hair.

Of course, the school-teacher is a bit taken aback at this news. But no, no one was trying to hurt anyone. Emma thought a man had broken into her room and taken advantage of the trance between consciousness and sleep. The fuzzy line that exists between perception and reality is always most difficult to discern. That's the hardest part about this whole thing. She wants to kick the bastard, wants to with all her heart, but the sadness in his eyes when she visited him…

It would not have been right.

Mary Margaret knows what it is to be accused of the inexcusable, and knows what it is to be innocent despite the loudest accusations. Both these people are innocent, even if she has no desire to comfort the stranger.

"Sweetheart, you didn't know. He wasn't awake. It wasn't your fault. It's no one's fault, baby. It's not anyone's fault." They sit there like mother and child until a rapping at the door interrupts. "I'll be right back, Emma," she soothes, and she leaves her brave friend—she is brave no matter what anyone says—lying on the bed and grasping whatever threads of reality she can find.

~oOo~

She likes the fire-water. It's almost like wine, but much stronger. It does not particularly taste very good, but it makes her warm inside. She is so tired of being cold, so tired.

The Gold Man does not like when she drinks, but he doesn't stop her. When she woke up this morning with a raging headache and a dry mouth, he had brought her a little white ball and a glass of water. It had looked too much like the things they gave her in the dark place, the ones they pushed down her throat, and she had become a wild thing and thrown the glass on the floor with the white ball. They call it pills, and she supposes that is a better name for the not quite circular object.

"No, no." He had told her, picking it up from the ground and putting it in his mouth. He swallowed it dry. "It's to help with the headache, love." He came back with a mop and another glass of water, showing her the bottle. "It's just an aspirin, dear."

Nothing was right. His face was wrong and his voice was wrong and even the way he said dear was wrong. But she took the pill and the glass of water, and it had helped.

Now she wants more of the fire-water. The name the Gold Man used for it was "whiskey," but that reminds her too much of kittens and the way their little whiskers tickle her nose. This feels nothing like that. This is fire to warm her frozen body (there are never enough blankets). Remembering the head-ache from this morning, she decides to slip underneath the covers. He had said something about an electric blanket.

She pushes a button and waits (she's always waiting) for it to work.

~oOo~

Mr. Gold fears explaining things may be very difficult, indeed. He has posted his son's bail and is taking him home. He has made a deal, and he will not break this one. Not to Bae, not again. Hopefully Belle hasn't gotten herself drunk while he's been away (it breaks his heart, but how can he stop her?), but he is very afraid his house will be full of the people he has broken. And look, Prince Henry, the only one who actually believes. Rumpelstiltskin would appreciate the irony in any other situation, but if what Ruby says is true (and it must be, for Ruby has explained the situation and had Henry donate a fiber of his hair, and no one plans on telling Regina), Henry is his grandson. And he can see Bae in Henry, can see the brightness and the bravery and…

Gold's head is spinning 'round. He pulls Ben into a shop (Modern Fashions, of all things) and proceeds to take stock of the situation. No, he cannot face his grandson right now, not when Henry is as Bae should be… and this new Bae will need clothes, anyhow, so Gold will shop with his son.

It's strange.

Bae (_Ben),_ looks at him with confusion, but the older man points outside. "That's your son, off to see his mother. I think it best we wait until the lad passes, wouldn't you say?"

Bae looks down with shame, confused, and then curious, looks up to see Henry pass. "He looks like me," his hoarse voice shatters Gold's heart.

"Aye, that he does," and what should be a tender moment is broken by the horror of it all. Gold wonders how much of it is his fault (_everything_). He pushes the thought aside and motions at the numerous shelves and racks. "Might as well pick something out, boy," and it's the closest he can get to calling him Bae, so it will have to do no matter how patronizing it sounds. The incredulous look on the young man's face fades into resigned annoyance once Gold shows he has no intention of leaving. By the time they do leave, it is with a bag of clothes hastily chosen and Henry is nowhere to be seen.

~oOo~

Henry has sneaked out from his mom's house. That is, the evil queen's lair. Semantics, really, and he doesn't have time for that; he has a mission (and it isn't Operation Cobra). Henry knows all about how you don't have to be like your parents, and he especially would rather his (biological) mother define him than his newfound father.

He doesn't feel so sick, anymore. He feels like maybe things are going to be alright.

The boy is skipping to Ms. Blanchard's home. He is surprised to see his mother Regina offering a basket to the school teacher, but he is not stupid, so he hides between two buildings. He is vaguely excited because he's hiding in an _alleyway_ from the _evil queen_. Talk about stealth. He holds his breath when Regina passes him by with a clicking of her heels, and is grateful that she does not so much as pause.

Success.

She has turned a corner, and he waits another minute or so before scampering up to Mary Margaret's apartment and knocking on the door. When he is allowed in and he sees Emma about to bite into his mom's apple turnover, he all but tackles her.

"No, you can't eat that!"

Emma almost drops the pastry in surprise, but manages to keep it from falling to the floor.

"Its… what?"

This is the first time he has seen Emma since this thing has begun, for real seen her. Everything else has just been seeing her from far away. He can't let her down. He has to save her from the evil queen; he just has to.

And so he tells her that he believes in her, tells her he loves her and she is the savior and so she _cannot_ eat this thing. He plucks the pastry from her hand and decides he will be his mom's knight-in-shining armor, at least for a little while.

And then he does the brave thing and he eats.

Because he knows she must save him.

He doesn't hear the crying and the wails and the disbelief and grief that enters the house when he falls to the floor.

* * *

**Told you things would begin to pick up. Let me know what you think (and I'm sorry if you think this is a cop-out, but it's kinda been rushing towards this the entire time), reviews are always appreciated.**


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